Countless Shades of Blue
by Vile Slanders
Summary: 'Cause Fifty shades of Blue just wasn't enough, here's my tribute to the King of Swag. A record of the most handsome and most intelligent man to have ever graced this boring planet of Earth. See into the very mind of our generation's prodigy of cool. So who is this incontestable embodiment of human ingenuity and the very personification of raw animal magnetism? Myself. Duh.
1. Prologue: Meeting my Nemesis

**Prologue: Meeting My Nemesis**

Hey! A new face in Pallet town, huh? What brings you to this little shithole south of nowhere?

-The fucking Pokemon lab? Seriously?

Okay then. First question:

-Are you a boy or a girl?

Naw, just fucking with you. Gramps may be nearsighted and borderline senile, but I'll be damned if he hasn't earned his peculiar reputation.

...Whatcha laughing at?

-Never heard an eleven year old use profanity before?

Well fuck me. What's your excuse for a clean mouth, Red?

-I don't give a shit what your name is, you're Red to me, Vlad Dracula.

Yeah, bullshit you got a medical condition. I wasn't born yesterday. Those are fucking contact lenses.

-I'm still calling bullshit.

Anyhow, why are you heading to the lab, Nosferatu?

-Oh fuck, another mooch. What's the matter, Red? Daddy can't catch you a rattata?

Oh. Shit. Sorry bra.

-No man, I mean it. You ain't the only bastard in this pisshole of a town.

Duh. Whadidjaya think: that the chip on my shoulder was the byproduct of flawless parenting?

-Eh, no biggie. Dad died when I was two. Ma ditched Saffron and moved to Pallet Town in order to raise Daisy and I close to a father figure. But, man, she picked one shitty father figure for me and my lil' sis. So what about you?

Ouch. I actually feel bad about the bastard comment now.

-Ha! I knew that I could get you to swear, you goody-two shoes!

Heh! Now your face is red as your eyes!

-Yep. If cocky was a merit, then I'd be a fucking General. And if introverted was a medal, you'd be its hero.

Dude, I hate to break it to you, but you are the spitting definition of introverted.

- _Whatever?_ Shit, I thought that you might have had a spine for contentious discussions.

Yeah well, I'm bored. And I'm stuck in snoozeville with no conventional way to pass the time other than mucking out the tauros stalls. So as it stands, Red? You're currently the most interesting thing there is in this dried-up piss bowl.

-Yeah, I work at the ranch. Gramp's back isn't quite what it used to be, so he employed me to shovel the shit for him. He claims that mon-husbandry is fucking therapeutic, but all he does day in and day out is jab needles into ferals and cut up 'donations' from the League.

Researcher? Fuck no, man! My Gramps is _The_ Professor Samuel Oak.

-No, I ain't messing with you.

My name? Shit son, it's _Gary Motherfucking Oak._

-Oh I see how it is.

So I'm Blue now, huh? Whateva floats your proverbial boat, Red.

-So why do you want a mon, Red?

Can't blame you there. Adventure sounds worlds better than growing old here. But you do know that mon are lethal as fucking hell, right?

-You do? And you still want one?

Shit. I knew that I liked your cut the instant I saw you.

-So I take it you're gonna nab a minor's licence and take full benefit of the Youngster Act?

Yeah, I thought so. Here's a tip, Red: Don't.

-No. Hell no. I totally think that you should get a mon. Just not one when you're eleven years old.

Dude, that's like giving a kid a pneumatic assault rifle. Nothing good ever comes of mixing inexperience with deadly hardware.

-There's ways of getting experience with mon, other than being eaten by a fucking arbok, Red.

Come on now, listen to old and wise Gary Oak here. Most dumbasses who get a minor's license have an adult in their life to dissuade them from acting on the Youngster Act. That piece of legislation is corporate condoned murder. Don't be another suicidal tool of the League, Red. Live long enough to take a share of their profits.

-Sixteen. You can take the PKMN T.A.R.E. then, when you're smart enough to realize that swellows don't deliver babies to expecting parents.

Yeah, that's my gameplan. I've already aced the T.A.R.E. I have a goddamn minor's license. All I'm missing is the mon, and I'm smart enough to _not_ compete in the League until I'm sixteen.

-It's not just the feral mon, Red. Statistically, your chances of getting butt-raped by a hobo decrease dramatically for each year you age past eleven. At sixteen, the odds start reversing: and hobos are more likely to get butt-raped by you, than you are by them.

Holy shit. You're a virgin, aren't you?

-Get a move on, Red. You're making our generation look bad.

...So I've talked you outta your suicidal plan then?

-Good. Just for that, I almost respect you. Now come on, I was supposed to have the tauros stalls mucked out an hour ago. Grab a pitchfork and open the eyes in the back of your head. Tauros are angsty motherfuckers when they're confronted with strangers.

No, you are so helping me shovel shit. You remember me going on about getting experience with mon?

-Oh hell no, it ain't gonna be boring. We'll be lucky if the whole herd doesn't try to gore you.

I promise you: _It will be anything but boring._

-Fuck. You keep shit-talking like that, and I'm gonna have you delousing the rhyhorns right after we're finished with the tauros.

Shit, I can ride a fucking rhyhorn like it's a fucking ponyta. They don't scare me.

-Will Gramps be okay with you helping 'round the ranch? Red, mark my words: If you live through one day with me, he'll hand you a fucking job alongside a complimentary dinner.

Don't start thanking me yet. Wait and see if we have to amputate your dismembered limbs first. Mon wrangling ain't no ice cream social.

-Double negative, triple negative, double-triple negatives: Who gives a fuck? You know what I meant, Red.

...I thought that my name was Blue, asshole.


	2. Date: 05-11-08

-Post Brink 1508, May 11th.

 _Well, first entry. Consider this the prologue of my future autobiography. Why? Cause I want the world to know that Gary Oak plans his shit in advance._

 _At any rate, today is a not so big, yet undeniably significant day._

 _Today is the day that Gary Oak flips the birdie over his shoulder in a southerly direction towards Piss-Bowl Nowhere, and marches north towards fame and glory, never to fucking return._

 _God, I've been waiting forever. I can't stand the thought of another day in Pallet Town._

 _That's the good news. Now for the bad news._

 _I ain't leaving alone._

 _I seriously can't believe my mother. I figured she'd be bawling her eyes out on my big day, begging me on a bended knee to stay just one week longer, but NO-ope._

 _That addled woman is sending Daisy out with me._

 _Great. Just what I wanted for the first day of my lifelong gig. Baby sister tailing me through the fucking wilderness, mussing up my groove._

 _I blame Red for that. He's the one who suggested it. I guess I'm gonna have to demote that fucking douchebag from serving as my personal caddy, to being Daisy's babysitter. I don't know why both our mothers think that two sixteen-year old farmhands can keep Ditsy Daisy safe on the Routes, but fuck me…_

 _If I don't kill my prattling baby sister on the road to Pewter, then that means the fucking ferals already ate her on the Pallet-Viridian Route._

 _Well... I shouldn't sell Daisy that short. She is an Oak after all. And speaking of that cherished surname…_

 _Gramps fucking did it. We got 'em. Three prototype units. Top shelf. Not even in the market yet. Apparently, that fucking drop-out of a would be champion has himself a home cooked breeding facility north of Saffron. While I was a bit miffed at receiving my first mon from a deadbeat, Gramps swears by these things. Claims they're the most hereditarily sophisticated specimens of their kind._

 _I hope Gramps isn't just blowing smoke up my skirt. If these mon really did come out of the same facility that Tenacious did…_

 _...Damn, I'm gettin' an erection just thinking about 'em possibilities._

 _Awkward, yet justifiably intense boners aside, all three of us are getting our hands on one of these cocksuckers. Me, Daisy, and Red…_

 _God, I can't fucking wait._

 _Gramps tried to keep all three species a secret, but I hacked into his email account again, and checked up on the delivery status._

 _I already know which one Daisy is gonna pick, and I know damn well which one Red is gonna be pining for too…_

 _Heh. I'll let them argue over who has first dibs. I know which one I want, and neither my flower-picking lil' sis or that dragon obsessed vampire is gonna give a clumsy little testudine the benefit of the doubt._

 _I know damn well what those things are capable of, and even outside of their prefered terrain, they can still throwdown with the best CQC mon in their weight class._

 _Like I said, Gary Oak plans ahead._

 _Gramps is also hooking us up with some jailbreaked pokedexes. Nothing illegal, just some additional coding to block the League's Spotlight program. While I don't mind the League keeping tabs on my progress through their sports syndicate, they don't need to know where I sleep, eat, and do my laundry. That information is personal, and I am not gonna be the hapless victim of target advertising._

 _Well, the plan is to have a little ceremony at the lab after lunch. Red and I are collecting our last paychecks as farmhands, and receiving an Oak Laboratories endorsed commission to record feral mon activities on our journey. Gramp's stipend ain't much, but it'll be plenty to keep us out of the Blackmarket, which I think is Gramp's reason for signing us on as his field researchers. Mom is paying Daisy's way across Kanto, of course. That spoiled little brat won't even have to lift a finger to fund a resupply run._

 _Alright, I need to go choke down some grub. Daisy is already in a tizzy, repeatedly vocalizing her hope that Gramps got her a purrloin. Maybe I should spoil the surprise for her, just to shut her up…_

 _...Naw. Daisy will forget all about that cheap purrloin when she sees her expensive new flowerpot, and I don't want Gramps getting butthurt over his potentially ruined surprise._

 _Smell ya' later, Pallet Town. This is Blue, signing off._


End file.
